Time On My Hands 8
by Laura W
Summary: Eight months after Voyager's return, someone makes amends.


**NOTE:** This is the eighth in a series written for the VAMB "Time On My Hands" challenge. The need to be read in order, and all can be found on my main ffn page.

**Time On My Hands 8**

I have a piece of time in my hand.

It is 7.62 centimeters long and 5.08 centimeters wide. It weighs 113.4 grams. Even deactivated, it gives off a slight EM signature that my remaining Borg implants identify and catalog. Its silver surface is cool in my palm.

It was acquired by _Voyager_ before Admiral Janeway rescued me from the Collective, a piece of 29th century technology displaced into the 24th.

It is, almost literally, a piece of time.

It is also the means by which the Emergency Medical Hologram...the Doctor...my friend...will finally be free.

He has been allowed only intermittent and supervised use of this portable holoemitter in the months since _Voyager_'s return. The Department of Temporal Investigations confiscated the device immediately and have been studying it ever since.

"Studying" is not the word the Doctor has used to described DTI's actions. "Holding it hostage" is the phrase he has used most recently.

Starfleet Medical assigned him an office in and have allowed him to work on cataloging the xenobiology and medical data from _Voyager_. His office has holoemitters, as do certain portions of the building. His program can be downloaded across the Federation network and activated in any room with a sufficiently advanced holoemitter. Starfleet has a bias towards flesh-and-blood physicians, however, and he has rarely been outside his office. He has been allowed the use of the portable device twice: Once for debriefing, and once to appear at his own sentience hearing.

I have spoken to him four times since our return, but never in person.

I regret this.

I did not realize how much until Admiral Janeway encouraged me to testify on his behalf before the Review Board. I spoke of his attempts to assist me in rediscovering my humanity and coping with my emotions. The lead panelist, a high-ranking Operations technician, dismissed these actions as being well within the Doctor's defined parameters rather evidence of his sentience.

"The EMH program has a psychology subroutine," she said. "His actions are proof that the EMH tool functioned the way it was designed."

_Tool._

The word...disturbed me.

The Board was prepared to relegate him to virtual nonexistence. They saw him as nothing more than a spanner in an equipment drawer. A useful object to be retrieved and utilized when needed, then discarded until need arises again. And if need never arises again, so be it. To the Board, he was a mere thing.

Not an individual.

When I realized this, my hand clenched the edge of the table with such force that my fingers made indentations in its surface.

I was angry. I looked around the room for guidance and saw Admiral Janeway seated in the gallery. She nodded once in encouragement. I nodded back and returned my attention to the Board.

I spoke of the Doctor's compassion for the crew. I told them about his innate goodness, and his torment over the ethical dilemmas he occasionally faced in the performance of his duties. I spoke of his kindness toward me, and his insistence that I see myself as something more than Borg.

"These are not the actions of a tool," I said. "The Doctor has grown far beyond the limitations of his programming. A tool is not capable of recognizing an ethical dilemma. A tool does not express compassion or kindness. These are the emotions of a self-aware individual. A person. A friend."

As soon as I said the words, I knew why Admiral Janeway had encouraged me to testify before the Board.

I also knew that, where the Doctor was concerned, I had committed a terrible oversight. And I began to experience a new emotion: regret.

I looked to Admiral Janeway again. Her eyes were very bright. She smiled at me. "Well done, Seven," she whispered. "Well done."

The Board took an additional week to rule in the Doctor's favor. DTI then reassembled his portable emitter – with help from Lieutenant Torres – and released it for his unlimited use.

I retrieved it from DTI this morning. Admiral Janeway suggested that I should be the one to return it to him, perhaps for the same reasons she suggested I testify before the Board. I believe she recognized that I had made a mistake some months ago, long before I realized it myself.

Now I am walking across the Starfleet Medical Campus with a piece of time in my hand.

The bag over my shoulder thumps against my hip as I make my way to the Doctor's office in a little-used records building at the edge of the campus. Several individuals stare openly at me as I pass. This scrutiny is something I have had to grow accustomed to since our return to the Alpha Quadrant. As usual, I do not know if these men are more intrigued by my appearance or my Borg implants. I ignore them.

My thoughts are for the Doctor only. He has been allowed to see only _Voyager_ shipmates, not patients, and the members of the team assigned to the data project. The building that houses his office is old, quiet and rather shabby in appearance. I assume he will be relieved to escape it.

Outside his office, I take a moment to examine my emotions. The regret I have felt since the day of my testimony is still there, but now I feel a curious mix of anticipation and trepidation. I am...nervous. I straighten my uniform and ring the chime.

The door slides open. The Doctor is seated at his desk with a PADD in hand. He is exactly as I remember him from _Voyager_. And I am very glad to see him.

He does not look up from his work. "If that's the rest of the Vidiian data," he says, "just leave it, Charlie. I'm not quite ready for it yet."

I permit myself a small smile. "My designation is not 'Charlie,'" I say.

The Doctor looks up abruptly. "Seven!" he exclaims. His smile is warm and inviting. "How lovely to see you." He moves around the edge of his desk and touches my arm. To my surprise, he leans forward and kisses my cheek. I feel my face redden. The Doctor must notice this, but does not remark upon it. "Please sit down." He ushers me to a pair of comfortable chairs in the corner of his small office. "Can I get you anything from the replicator? A beverage?"

"A beverage would be acceptable," I say. I place my bag beside the chair and sit. "A cup of blueberry tea with vanilla, please."

An emotion that I cannot identify crosses his features when I make this request.

He hands me a cup of tea and sits down. "I've been meaning to contact you," he says. "I want to thank you for what you said to the Board. I understand that your testimony was pivotal to the final ruling."

"You are welcome," I reply. "And congratulations."

His smile widens. "Thank you." He watches intently as I sip my tea. "How is it?" he asks.

I consider my words carefully. "It is very hot. I can taste the tartness of the dried blueberries and the sweetness of the vanilla."

He nods. "Now, to what to I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

I set the tea on the table between us. "I have something for you," I say, and hold out my hand with the portable emitter.

The Doctor's smile fades somewhat as he stares at the object in my palm. "Admiral Janeway told me the Board would send a runner," he says very quietly.

"She suggested I bring it instead. I believe she thought we might have things to discuss."

He looks up at me. "Do we?" he asks.

"We do," I reply. "But first, this." I activate the emitter and affix it to his left shoulder. His holomatrix shimmers and realigns.

His smile is tentative. "Computer," I say, "deactivate this room's holoemitters." The office's emitters go dark. The Doctor does not waver. Now his expression is one of satisfaction and relief.

"Thank you," he says.

"Would you like to leave immediately?" I ask.

He waves at my teacup. "Finish your tea first. Let's talk."

I retrieve my tea. I note with some curiosity that my hand is shaking. "Very well," I say. "What shall we discuss?"

"Well, it's been almost two months since we last spoke. What have you been up to? Aside from testifying before the Board, that is."

I sip my tea. He wishes to indulge in "small talk." Very well. "I have been working with Lieutenant Torres's team to analyze the various technologies incorporated into _Voyager_'s systems. I have also spent time with my Aunt in Sweden."

He sits back in his chair. "How do you like Sweden?" he asks.

"It is colder than I am accustomed to," I say, "and occasionally damp. But my Aunt is very kind and the city of Sundsvall is lovely."

"Will you settle there permanently?"

"Perhaps," I say. "Although I am intrigued by the possibility of rejoining _Voyager_ when she is recommissioned."

The Doctor's smile fades and he looks away from me. "Under Captain Chakotay's command," he says.

"I do not believe he will accept that assignment, if it is offered to him," I reply.

"Why not?" he asks.

"He claims he wants to put his feet on the ground and keep them there," I say.

"'Claims?''"

I nod. "I am not entirely certain he was being honest with himself when he said it."

"What makes you think that?"

"Chakotay was...restless upon our return. I believe he was conflicted about his feelings toward being back in the Alpha Quadrant. He did not want to leave Earth, but may have felt obligated to go with me to a place where I would not be so scrutinized and ostracized for my Borg background."

"I see," the Doctor says. "So he went with you to Deep Space Nine."

"Yes. But he was not comfortable there. I could see it, even as he refused to admit it to himself."

"Deep Space Nine was not the 'ground' on which he wished to keep his feet."

"No. Nor was I the person he wanted to be 'on the ground' with. Or anywhere else." I replace my teacup on the table between us. "His capacity for self-delusion is extraordinary."

"Virtually limitless, actually."

"Yes. It is one of the reasons we terminated our romantic liaison." I permit myself a sigh. "One of the _many_ reasons."

The Doctor touches my hand. "Seven," he says gently, "did he hurt you?"

If I were given to laughing out loud, now would be the time for it. Instead, I simply smile and take his hand in mine. "No," I say firmly. "If anything, I believe it is possible that I hurt him."

The Doctor blinks. "Really?"

I nod. "The dissolution of our relationship was mutual and amicable, but I initiated it. I told him I was not ready to settle into a permanent partnership with anyone, something he claimed to desire. I also told him it was clear he did not wish to be permanently partnered with me. I was...a compromise."

The Doctor chuckles grimly. "I'm sure he didn't take that well."

"No. He did not." I frown, remembering the intensity of that conversation. "But eventually he agreed that our relationship had probably been ill-advised from the beginning. Being in the Alpha Quadrant afforded us both new possibilities that we wished to explore. We parted ways and agreed to remain friends."

"Have you spoken to him since then?"

"No. He has been staying with his sister on Dorvan, communicating with no one until the plans for the Prixin celebration were communicated to him."

"If you don't think he'll take _Voyager_, what do you think he'll do?"

"I think that is entirely dependent on the outcome of his reunion with Admiral Janeway tomorrow at the party."

The Doctor nods. He looks out the window for several seconds, then turns back to me. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

He lets go of my hand. "Why him?" he asks. "Virtually any man on the ship would have been ecstatic to go out with you, Seven."

I raise an eyebrow. "Like William Chapman?" My one ill-fated date with Chapman concluded with him being helped to Sickbay with a torn ligament in his shoulder.

The Doctor laughs. I am glad to have eased the tension between us. "No, not like William Chapman. But Harry Kim, for example. Or Mike Ayala. Any of them. Why Chakotay?"

"At first, it was simple attraction. He is a very handsome man, by human standards." I take his hand again. "I only realized much later that he reminded me of you."

This is, apparently, not what he was expecting to hear. "What?" he gasps. "He is hyper-macho, self-delusional, easily deceived, casually violent, overly temperamental -"

I stop this litany by taking his other hand in mine. "He is also patient and kind and compassionate. He is innately good and fair. He feels deeply, but does not express the depth of his feelings. He has great capacity for love. These are the qualities that reminded me of you, Doctor."

We stare at each other for ten silent seconds. "Joe," he finally says.

"'Joe?'"

He nods. "I've decided I need a name. 'The Doctor' makes me feel like an object. I'd like you to call me 'Joe.'"

"As you wish," I say. "Joe, I owe you an apology."

"Whatever for?"

"For failing to consider you for a romantic liaison," I reply. "I had already dismissed you as a potential partner because I thought of you as merely a hologram. The rest of the _Voyager_ crew recognized your sentience and individuality. But I did not, and I, above all others, should have." I take a deep breath. "But you are far more than a hologram, just as I am more than Borg. I am sorry, Joe, for not realizing your potential, even though you realized mine from the beginning."

Joe's eyes are very kind. "Apology accepted," he says.

I nod. "I would now like to make amends," I say, and reach into the bag I brought with me. I retrieve a wrapped parcel and offer it to him. "I have something else for you."

He takes the small parcel. "What's this?"

"A gift." I shift nervously in my chair. I am uncertain how this gift will be received.

He unwraps the parcel to reveal a small wooden box with a hinged lid. The top is inlaid with wood in different hues and grains, forming the stylized shape of a shining sun. Joe touches the design with his fingertips. "This is beautiful," he says.

"I had it made by an artisan in Sundsvall," I say. "Open it."

He gently lifts the lid, activating the antique mechanism inside. The familiar notes of "You Are My Sunshine" begin to play.

I hold my breath and watch Joe's face change from surprise to recognition to hope. It is because of his tutelage, and Admiral Janeway's – and my brief association with Captain Chakotay – that I am able to recognize these emotions in him. My gratitude toward them all is nearly overwhelming in this moment.

Joe listens to the song play through. Then he reaches out and places one hand against my cheek. His palm is warm. This is due to his programming. It is also comforting. This is due to his personality. It is that distinction that makes him more than an object to be locked away indefinitely, retrieved only when needed.

"You've come so far, Seven," he says.

"We both have," I reply. "But we still have far to go."

"Will we get there together?"

"Perhaps," I say. "I am still not ready to make a permanent liaison."

"Neither am I."

I cover his hand with mine. "Then let us begin with something simpler," I say. "Will you accompany me to the Prixin celebration tomorrow?"

His eyes light up. "A date?"

"Indeed."

"I would be honored, Seven." He leans forward and kisses my cheek again. This time, I am not surprised. I feel my face redden – from anticipation now instead of embarrassment.

"But right now," he adds, "I'd like to get out of this office. Do you have plans for the rest of the day?"

"No. I had hoped we could spend the afternoon together, and then leave for Indiana this evening."

He smiles and rises. "Then how about a walk in Golden Gate Park?"

"I would like that, Joe." I stand. He offers me his arm. I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow and we leave his office together.

We both have time on our hands here in the Alpha Quadrant.

I look forward to spending a great deal of it with him.

-END-

**NOTE: **_Surprise._ :-)

Three chapters to go, I think. Everybody is now moving in the right direction, and the J/C finale is at hand. Thanks for reading, gang!


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